To the Victor Goes the Spoils
by The Milk of Human Kindness
Summary: Hermione, a prisoner in a postwar world ruled by Voldemort, discovers that she is the property of someone she used to know.
1. An Unexpected Visitor

Disclaimer: HP belongs to that crazy rich woman who lives in a castle in Scotland.

Summary: Hermione, a prisoner in a post-war world ruled by Voldemort, discovers that she is the property of someone she used to know.

A/N: Greetings from my current location, a lovely internet cafe in Ecuador. I dreamt up this story on the plane ride down here, and I hope you guys enjoy it. For readers of my other story, I'll get back to that soon, I promise. So here we are. Please read and review!

* * *

The sound of footsteps echoing down the hall stirred Hermione from her sleep. Awake, she returned to a world of constant, dulling pain. All her joints ached, she was plagued with persistent headaches and her wrist had never fully healed from her last battle. But she was starving. And the footsteps could only mean one thing: breakfast. And disgusting as it always was, breakfast was the only meal of the day for prisoners. 

Wincing as she stood up from the floor, Hermione gingerly walked over to the door, her eyes on the slot where the guards passed her food. The rumble in her stomach became louder and more forceful as the footsteps drew nearer. Months ago, when she had first arrived, she had attempted to portion out her breakfast so that it would last an entire day. Recently though, as the breakfasts became smaller, she had become so famished that she would wolf down her entire meal in seconds.

At last the footsteps stopped in front of her door. In Pavlovian fashion, her mouth began to water. But instead of hearing the familiar click-clacking of the food slot being unfastened, the far more terrifying sound of keys being jostled and maneuvered into locks reached her ears. _Oh no. Not this again. _Instinctively, Hermione quickly shuffled back into the corner and rolled up into a ball, her heart pounding a million times a minute. _Not this again._

But when the doors opened, instead of the gruff visitors she had been expecting, a lone guard stood in the doorway, holding some cloth in his hands.

"Prisoner 113, you are instructed to follow me to the lavatory facilities. Stand up immediately."

Hermione looked up, the light from the hallway temporarily blinding her. Lavatory facilities? She hadn't been aware such a place existed.

"Wh—wh—why?" She squeaked, still suspicious.

The guard sighed out of annoyance. "Don't make me use my wand, 113. Just get up and follow me."

Hermione stood up and walked to the doorway. When she got there, she realized that she had never seen the outside of her cell before. The guard turned away and headed down the hallway, motioning her to follow him. Her bare feet lightly pattered against the cold tile of the prison hallway as she struggled to keep up with the briskly walking guard.

At the end of the hallway and two right turns later, the guard opened a large door and Hermione followed him in. The tiles of this room were wet, and she could hear the sound of running water ahead of her. The guard turned around and handed her the cloth he had been holding, which she now recognized as a towel.

"You are instructed to take a shower and clean yourself to the best of your abilities. There are multiple shower stalls and each has soap and shampoo dispensers. You are allotted twenty minutes to shower. Understood?"

Hermione eyes watered. A shower! Warm water and soap! It was kindness beyond her imagination. "Thank you," she whispered fervently to the guard.

The guard's face turned to one of disgust. "Don't thank me, mudblood. If I had my way you'd be on your knees sucking me off right now."

Shocked by his sudden change in attitude, Hermione stumbled forward towards the showers, her mind trying to comprehend exactly why she was being allowed such a luxury, especially when it was obvious that she was still regarded as lower than dirt.

Under the soothing water, as she untangled and massaged shampoo into her hair, she ran over the possibilities. Was she going to be part of a prisoner exchange? No, that wouldn't make much sense, the war was long over. Was she being released due to amnesty? No, they would never release her. Was she being transferred? Maybe. Her stomach clenched up. Were they preparing to execute her? It was as likely as any other possibility.

Her twenty minutes under the shower faucet proved to be mercilessly short. She had managed to wash her entire body right as the water ceased. Drying herself off, she slipped back into the dirty rags that had once been her uniform and shuffled back to the guard, her heart lodged in her throat.

The guard was leaning against the wall, checking his watch. As Hermione approached, he grabbed her arm and pulled her back into the hallway and down the hall. Right in front of another big door, he turned around and looked her in the eye.

"Your owner is here to see you. If you value your life, it would be wise to keep silent and stay respectful. Always remember that you can be killed on a whim." He reached towards the doorknob.

"Wait….wait." Hermione pleaded. She didn't understand his words. "My owner? What do you mean?"

The guard looked annoyed again. "Yes, your owner," he hissed. "You are property of Mrs. Malfoy, and she has come to claim you."

Hermione's heart convulsed. _Property. _Of Narcissa Malfoy no less. It might as well have been her execution. Knowing the rumors of prisoner treatment at the hands of Narcissa, she was pretty sure she'd spend the last few hours of her life in agony that would make her prison term seem like a vacation.

The guard opened the door and led her in. It was a well-furnished room, with a fireplace, big leather chairs and bookshelves on the opposite wall.

"Mrs. Malfoy, your slave is ready for inspection." The guard was speaking into a headset. He listened for a reply and nodded. Putting down the headset, he looked at Hermione.

"On your knees, slave."

Hermione complied.

"Eyes on the floor, always."

Hermione heard the door open and someone come in. She braced herself to be struck and beaten. The last time she had seen Narcissa, they had exchanged missed Avada Kedavra curses.

She heard the footsteps get closer, until the figure was standing over her. Hermione, with her eyes staring at the floor, could see her boots. She was expecting a Cruciato curse at any moment.

Instead, the person standing over her sighed.

"Does she find the carpet more interesting than her owner?"

Hermione's eyes widened. She recognized that voice. It wasn't Narcissa. It was—

The guard suddenly viciously smashed her in the back of the head.

"You heard her, slave! Look at your owner when she requests it."

Hermione, dazed with pain, lifted her head. In front of her, clad in a black trenchcoat adorned with the lacing worn by the highest ranking Deatheaters, stood Pansy Parkinson. Apparently Pansy Malfoy now. Pansy looked furious, but wasn't even looking at Hermione.

"You! What is your name, guard?" She snarled.

The guard stammered. "Uh…Nigel Caldwell, Mrs. Malfoy."

"What gives you the right to abuse and damage my property? Do you know what I can do to you?"

"My apologies, Mrs. Malfoy, I only thought that—"

"My lord," Pansy continued, reaching down and pulling Hermione to her feet. "Look at this!" Blood was dripping from Hermione's nose. Pansy wiped it away and returned her glare to the guard.

"How dare you treat my property in such a manner!" She returned her gaze to Hermione. "Have you even been feeding her? I doubt she weighs even 40 kilos!"

"I am terribly sorry Mrs. Malfoy. We fed the prisoner the same food as everyone else, in accordance with the standards set la---"

"Do you fools even think? What good is a slave who is one missed meal away from dying of starvation? Good lord, I shall have to have a word with the commandant." Pansy then spoke to Hermione.

"Slave, off with your clothes." Not a request. Pansy's eyes were cold and brutal.

Hermione gulped. She meant to say something, but thought twice. She began to shed her clothing. When she was done, Pansy stepped back and ran her eyes up and down.

"She looks like a skeleton!" She harrumphed to herself, "I am afraid to sneeze, lest I accidentally blow her over."

"Tell me slave, do the guards mistreat you?"

Hermione looked at Pansy. She didn't know what to say. Almost everything she had encountered since being captured constituted as mistreatment. She opened her mouth to speak, but didn't know what to say.

"Not as talkative as you once were, slave? Pansy grinned. "Have the guards beaten you?" She motioned towards Hermione's arms. "Are these bruises from the guards?"

Hermione nodded. Tears began to form in her eyes.

Behind her, the guard began to defend the actions of his comrades.

"Mrs. Malfoy, we had no idea the prisoner was your property! It was only this morning that we received the message from the High Court. If we had known, surely we would have acted differently!"

Pansy seemed even angrier at these words. "Take me to your commandant. The Pureblood Commission will hear of this."

"Yes, madam. This way, please." Fear was evident in the guard's voice.

Pansy strolled past Hermione but stopped a few feet behind her. She walked back and grabbed a package from her bag. Handing it to Hermione, she spoke, again with a cold tone.

"Put these clothes on, and be ready to leave in five minutes. Okay slave?"

Hermione closed her eyes and nodded. When she opened them Pansy was still standing there, staring at her. Her hand suddenly struck Hermione across the face.

"I asked you a question. Okay, slave?"

Hermione, with tears rolling down her eyes, nodded again, vigorously. She then realized what Pansy wanted.

"Yes…yes…master."

Pansy smiled. "Mistress, slave. Mistress."


	2. The Ride Home

Disclaimer: JK Rowling's.

Summary: A bit of backstory, character development, extensive descriptions of doors.

A/N: Well here's the next chapter. Hope you guys enjoy it, and review it. By the way, I have a new story, "Grade Inflation", involving Hermione and Padma, if you guys are interested. And I'm writing the next chapter of my first story, but this one is so much easier to write. Thanks, and please review.

* * *

Pansy poked her head into the room. 

"Slave, let's go." She glanced at Hermione, who was wearing a conservative looking maid's outfit, and frowned.

She was standing up straight and obediently, and fit well into the new uniform Pansy had provided. But her feet were bare.

"Don't you have any shoes?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, mistress" she added hastily.

Pansy exhaled sharply, as if angry.

"No matter. We won't be walking anyway. Come on." She turned around and headed down the hallway. Hermione followed.

At the end of the hallway the guards were holding the door open. A fat, balding man, visibly agitated, paced near the door. As Pansy moved closer, he approached her.

"Mrs. Malfoy, please be reasonable! We didn't know the prisoner was yours…I assure you, had we known! But with the war on the continent and all, we are severely strapped for cash and food! Please, Mrs. Malfoy…we have nothing but the utmost respect for the Pureblood Commission, and especially for the name Malfoy. Please!"

Pansy laughed sharply and walked right past the desperate man and out the door. Hermione stepped out behind her and winced. The sun was shining brightly and she couldn't remember the last time she had been outside. Shortly before she was captured, probably. Outside, she turned around to look at the prison that had been her home for months. A banner reading "We Hail the Great Lord Voldemort, Hail Voldemort" hung above the façade, and made her shiver.

A grand old limousine pulled up in the gravel driveway and an old man got out and opened the rear door. Limping with bare feet over the sharp gravel, Hermione followed Pansy inside.

Once inside, Pansy relaxed on her seat. She reached over and awkwardly poured herself a glass of wine, using only her right hand. She began sipping quietly, all while examining Hermione, mostly with a smug and bemused expression on her face.

"Would you like some wine, slave?" She put an emphasis on the last word.

Hermione shook her head no. "No thank you mistress." She opened her mouth again. "But….," she trailed off. She felt faint.

Pansy smiled cruelly. "But what, slave?"

From Hermione's estimate, it was now nearly noon. She hadn't eaten for over a day.

"But I'm so hungry, mistress" she admitted, gasping out the words.

Pansy's face turned grim. "I'd imagine. There is plenty of food at the manor and...hmm…" Furrowing her eyebrows, Pansy reached over and grabbed Hermione's wrist and felt for a pulse. She mumbled to herself and then felt Hermione's forehead for a fever.

"You're really sick," she finally said.

"Yes." Hermione had suspected as much.

"I'll send for a doctor when we get to the house."

Hermione looked up. "Thank you, mistress. Thank you very much." She spoke slowly, staring into Pansy's eyes, wanting to make her gratitude obvious. Pansy just laughed.

"Thank you? Oh I'm disappointed. I expected far more of a fight out of you, slave. I used to respect your pride, but now I think you'd kiss my feet just for a kind word."

Hermione cast her eyes on the floor, unsure what to say. Pansy reached over to the seat beside her and grabbed something.

"Here, I'm going to put this on you." She held up a collar. "This is a magic restriction collar. Even though you certainly seem docile, don't think I've forgotten what a formidable opponent you were in the war. You won't be able to cast anything but the most basic spells with this on."

Pansy scooted over and tried to fasten the collar to Hermione's neck. However, Pansy only used her right hand, and Hermione's neck had grown so thin after months of malnutrition that Pansy had to puncture a hole in the collar herself just to get it to fit. "Goodness," she mumbled.

After fastening the collar, she leaned back in her seat.

"Now I suppose you'd like to know what your duties as my slave are, right?"

"Yes, mistress."

"Excellent. Well, you may or may not know it, but Lord Voldemort is fighting a war on the continent right now. A rather large war. And as such, almost all of my servants have been drafted into service."

This bit of news disheartened Hermione. Voldemort wasn't just stopping at Britain.

Pansy went on. "As you'd imagine, Malfoy Manor is rather large, and it has fallen into a bit of disrepair in the past few months. And despite your unfortunate blood heritage, I do know that you are an intelligent and capable worker. There are a number of everyday chores that it will be your duty to do. Cleaning, cooking, attending to any personal desire I have---these will be your duties. I may put your big brain to work doing some bookkeeping as well. Understood, slave?"

"Yes mistress." Hermione nodded.

"Okay, slave. Do you have any questions for me?"

Hermione had been locked up, away from the world, for an entire year. She had a million questions, and her mind raced furiously to sort which questions would be the most important and appropriate.

"War…in Europe?" she stuttered feebly.

Pansy smiled. "Yes, although it should be over in a couple of months. Death Eaters control almost all of Western Europe right now. There are still pockets of resistance in Germany, and do you remember Viktor Krum? He's been one of the biggest thorns in our side. He's still on the loose somewhere in Poland."

Hermione smiled to herself. At least one of her old friends was still alive, for at least a little longer. She thought of another question.

"If you don't mind me asking, mistress, how…how did I…how did you come to own me?"

"Well, Lord Voldemort is very generous with his distribution of slaves, especially with so many purebloods called into military service. You are certainly one of the highest profile prisoners we have, and while you were originally slated for execution, the contributions of the Malfoy family during the war were so great that he rewarded you to us."

Pansy had been somewhat nice to her thus far, but she was still a Malfoy, if not by blood then by name, and Hermione wondered if someday soon she might regret that she hadn't been executed instead.

"And…you are…what do you do?"

"I'm a minister of the Pureblood Commission."

Seeing Hermione's incomprehension, Pansy explained.

"The Pureblood Commission is made up of the senior member of all the great Pureblood families. We're responsible for producing laws and enforcing order."

"Oh." Hermione thought for a moment. The Pureblood Commission was made up of the _senior_ member of each family, which meant…

"Draco?"

Pansy's mood shifted. "He's dead," she said quietly.

She took a big breath and continued, seeming to lift a burden off her shoulders.

"So are Lucius, Narcissa, and my parents. And Millicent and Blaise. And Harry, Ron, Neville…hardly anyone from your side survived."

Hermione stared at her. She had known of Harry and Ron's deaths, but she had had no idea of the casualties on the other side. Pansy's face betrayed no emotion other than cold reality.

"Everyone's dead, slave. Everyone but you and me."

* * *

Malfoy Manor was a large estate right on the outskirts of town. There were iron gates, an enormous garden and even stables. It reminded Hermione of what Thornfield Hall, from her favorite book Jane Eyre, would look like. The limousine pulled up right in front of the main entrance, an impressive large pair of oak doors set against an imposing marble façade. 

"And here we are." Pansy reached over and clipped a chain to Hermione's collar, giving her a de-facto leash. She gave it a gentle tug.

"Come on, let's go," she said, opening the door and stepping out.

The chauffeur, who Hermione now saw was frightfully old, had walked around to the rear of the car and opened the boot.

"Your bags, Madam Malfoy." Hermione saw that there were several bags in the boot.

Pansy, who had already been leading Hermione up the stairs to the door, turned around.

"Ah yes. We'll have the slave carry them up to…" she paused as she examined Hermione's gaunt figure one more time. "Actually, let me get the slave settled down, and I'll be right back and get them myself."

The doors opened automatically for Pansy, surely some spell Hermione thought, and she led the way into the grand entrance room. The Malfoy family crest was prominent over the large staircase, and the walls were adorned with tacky paintings of Lucius, Narcissa and Draco in happier days, posing with furs and jewels adorned around their necks and smug smiles plastered to their faces. Pansy led Hermione up the staircase and down a long hallway, full of paintings of the Malfoys. Hermione noticed that there were no paintings of Pansy.

Stopping at the end of the hallway, Pansy gestured to the giant oak door in front of them. "Okay, this is my bedroom. And this," she turned to the right and led Hermione into a far more modest room, "is yours." The room had a cot, small dresser, closet and wash basin. She unclipped the chain and beckoned Hermione to the bed.

"Lie down. I'm going to go call for a doctor and fix you some soup. Just lie down. I'll be back in a few minutes." She turned to leave.

Hermione, though having been chastened for it earlier, couldn't stop herself. "Thank you mistress," she managed to squeak out.

Pansy snorted. "Oh honestly, shut up with that already, idiot." But she stopped at the doorway and looked down at Hermione. Finally she shook her head and exhaled loudly.

"You're welcome."


	3. Learning Her Place

Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns 'em.

Summary: Day 2 of captivity begins.

A/N: This chapter and the next were originally going to be one chapter, but it got far too long. So I'm splitting them in two. Expect the next chapter in a day or so. Hope you like, and if you do, please review.

* * *

A huge bowl of soup hovered into the room, Pansy following close behind. With a flick of her wand, she directed the bowl onto the table beside Hermione's bed. 

"Here's some chicken noodle soup. I'm not much of a cook…in fact that's a reason why I got you in the first place."

It could have been warm mud and it wouldn't have mattered to Hermione. Just the smell of food overrode all her senses. She forgot her manners and began devouring the soup. In her year of captivity, she hadn't had anything nearly this good. Pansy stood and watched, waiting until she had finished before continuing.

"I also sent for a doctor. He should be here in a few minutes."

Hermione looked up, at her mistress. She gave a low nod, a silent thank-you that Pansy apparently understood, for she nodded back.

"Now just lie down and rest. I have to go fetch luggage from the car." She turned and left.

Hermione leaned back and spread herself out on the bed. This morning she had woken up on the floor of her grimy cell, half-mad with starvation and probably a few weeks from death. Now she was lying on a bed—a bed!—and would apparently be kept and fed well.

And for this she had to thank Pansy, one of her most vicious enemies at Hogwarts and most feared enemies on the battlefield. It was so bizarre, being grateful to Pansy after years of cursing her very name. And being grateful to Pansy for allowing, _allowing, _Hermione to become her slave. _A slave!---_the last vestiges of her old personality protested. In the old days she would have rather died than serve someone like Pansy, no matter the treatment. But the years of war and months of brutal captivity had changed her. She was now loyal to anyone who fed her, anyone who refrained from beating her. Pansy was right, she had no pride left.

Closing her eyes for a moment, she drifted off into a light nap, waking a few minutes later when she heard Pansy's voice from down the hall.

"Yes, she's lying down in the servant's quarters over here."

Another voice, a man's voice, responded. "And may I ask, Mrs. Malfoy, why this patient is so important that I had to floo over here immediately?"

"She is very sick, and the wait to see a doctor is days long unless you specify emergency." They entered the room.

The doctor was an old, grey-haired man, whose face quickly turned to purple when he saw who he was treating.

"A mudblood! You called me here all the way from London to treat...this?" he said, gesturing at his patient.

Pansy was calm. "She is not just a mudblood. She is my slave, and a valued servant in the household."

The doctor was still incredulous. "A mudblood! Can you imagine…"

Pansy steeled her expression. "She serves vital duties in the household."

"She is a mudblood! My goodness, I am opposed to the idea of even feeding her, much less treating her! In fact, I just came from the Thrace estate. Mr. Thrace goes through five mudblood servants a month! He lets his kids hunt them for sport, honestly Mrs. Malfoy, the laws of this country are very clear, we're not even _allowed _to treat them."

With an exasperated sigh, Pansy reached under her coat and pulled out a death eater medallion. "As you know, I am a member of the Pureblood Commission, and as such, this isn't a request. You are hereby _ordered _to treat the patient." The doctor nodded, but obviously under protest.

"Very well, madam."

Pansy saw the anger in his eyes, and suddenly thought of something that would soothe him. "And, this is just not any ordinary mudblood." The doctor looked up, a tint of interest on his face. "This is the famous Hermione Granger, now my slave. The propaganda value of someone of her former stature now serving as my slave is priceless."

Hermione's stomach tensed up. Is this really why Pansy wanted her as a slave?

"Is that so? The mighty Hermione Granger? I thought she had been executed." The doctor peered down at her. "Not so mighty anymore, are you, mudblood?"

"No…sir," came Hermione's choked response.

"Very well, now that's settled. Please treat the patient and I'll let you be on your way."

The doctor worked quick and efficiently. Checking Hermione's pulse, taking and analyzing a blood sample and examining her mouth, he came up quickly with a diagnosis, and a cure. He handed Pansy a vial of potion.

"Give this to her and have her rest till tomorrow. She should be fine tomorrow. Also…" he sneered slightly, showing his disgust, "if you really value her well-being, I would advise feeding her more. She is clearly malnourished."

Pansy nodded. "Thank you," she said curtly.

"My respects, Mrs. Malfoy. Hail Voldemort."

"Goodbye, doctor."

As the doctor left, Pansy turned around to face Hermione. She handed her the vial. "Drink up, you heard what the doctor said."

Hermione obliged, and handed the empty vial back to Pansy, who was now pointing her wand at Hermione.

"The doctor says sleep is good for you, so I'm going to put you to sleep, okay? If you wake up during the night, the bathroom is down the hall to your left."

Hermione nodded. Pansy pointed.

"Dormis quiete."

And then everything was black.

* * *

"Slave, wake up. Come on."

Hermione opened her eyes. Pansy was standing above her.

"Do you feel better? The doctor said you would."

Hermione blinked her eyes and rubbed her head. She couldn't really tell.

"Yeah, I think so."

"Well come on, there's breakfast for us in the kitchen." Pansy plopped something on the floor. "I brought you shoes."

Hermione scooted off the bed and followed Pansy down the stairs, past several doors and into the large and well appointed kitchen. She was somewhat surprised to see a refrigerator, toaster and dishwasher. Muggle appliances! She couldn't remember the last time she saw one, and would have never expected to find them in the Malfoy manor, of all places.

Pansy saw her curious look.

"Lucius would roll over in his grave if he saw this, but it's just so much more practical," she explained. Pointing at a microwave, she continued. "But I must admit, I'm still a novice when it comes to using most of these things. That's why I have you."

Hermione smiled to herself. The appliances reminded her of home, a place she hadn't been to or even thought about in years. Pansy broke her chain of thought, beckoning her towards the bowls of oatmeal and platter of sausage on the table.

They ate quietly, Pansy humming to herself while reading various reports and Hermione staring dutifully at her mistress. There was something unusual about the way Pansy ate that Hermione just couldn't put her finger on. When they were finished, Pansy took Hermione on a tour of the house and gave her the day's duties.

"As you can tell by today's breakfast, I'm a poor cook. So I expect you to do the cooking from now on. I wake up at 7am, every morning. I expect breakfast to be waiting when I get up and dinner to be waiting when I get home in the evening." She had gone back to the authoritarian tone she had used at the prison.

Hermione nodded, and they continued on.

Pansy led her into a dark, musty room that looked like it had been through an earthquake. Objects were strewn all over the floor. "This was Lucius's study, and after he died Narcissa went mad and wrecked it up. I've been meaning to clean and re-organize all the books, but I never had the chance. This will be your job today. I'd like it to…no, I _want_ it to be cleaned by the end of the day."

"Yes, mistress."

"Very well, now I have a meeting to attend. I'll be home by tonight, and I want dinner waiting and that study cleaned, am I clear?" She held Hermione's chin and tilted it up to face her.

"Yes, mistress."

"And be sure to fix yourself lunch when you get hungry, okay? You still need to gain a lot of weight."

"Yes, mistress."

"And you know where the bathroom is, right? Take a shower if you get dirty."

"Yes, mistress."

Pansy by this point was grinning with delight at the endless chain of responses. "Are you going to be a good slave?" she cooed.

Hermione hesitated, looking at Pansy's expression.

"Yes, mistress," she finally said. No pride left.


	4. Learning Her Place Part 2

Disclaimer: Owned by JK Rowling Inc.

Summary: Hermione's bubbling resentment of her position backfires. Warnings: violence and cursing.

A/N: Okay, this is the second part of the last chapter. Don't I update fast? That's what being stuck in rainy Ecuador will do to ya!  
Now firstly, I want to caution: don't be alarmed by how this chapter ends. This story, believe it or not, is a romance, though it may not seem like it right now. I know a lot of people won't like the ending of this chapter, but I'll move on quickly, and the story will get happier, I promise. Oh and Rikkod-- I didn't put much thought into it, but I assume that the war would be all magic. Not sure why you'd think it would involve tanks and planes and stuff. Anyway, thank you for all your comments, I hope you enjoy this chapter (eeeek) and please review if you do.

* * *

Feeling the wood caress her fingertips, Hermione brought the wand up to chest, flared out her arm, pointed and cast. 

"Wingardium Leviosa."

Her target, a collection of books strewn about Lucius's floor, began to lightly shake and then slowly hover, until they reached a height about eye level with Hermione. Seeing this, she beamed. God, it felt good to do magic again.

Before she had left, Pansy had given her a wand to help with her daily duties. It was a heavily restricted wand, incapable of casting anything but the most basic spells, and Hermione was also wearing her magic restriction collar. But still, the thrill of casting a spell had always excited her. And it had been so long since she had been allowed to hold a wand.

Of course, with magic, everything was easy. Books were levitated and then sorted back into their rightful spot on the bookshelf. Torn curtains were re-sewn and re-hung on the windows. Shattered glass un-shattered, broken furniture un-broke. Magic could do anything.

In fact, cleaning Lucius's room was proving to be remarkably easy. After an hour Hermione was nearly done, so to avoid an entire day with nothing to do, she decided to stop with the magic and re-sort the remaining books by hand. Of course, doing this meant a grim reminder of what books Lucius would have normally read. She picked up a copy of _Post War Mudblood Extermination_, a book at home with the rest of his collection, and shuddered. She was lucky to be alive.

After re-sorting that and a couple of other books, she reached down and grabbed a dusty grey tome. Turning the book over, she gasped at the title, _Intelligence on the Order of the Phoenix Members_. During the war, her side had had a similar book, _Reports on Higher Order Death Eaters. _She opened the book to the index, and ran her finger down to G. As she suspected, Granger-Hermione, was there. She quickly turned to the corresponding page, and read the description.

_Granger-Hermione: Fearsome and immensely talented mudblood witch. Directly responsible for the heavy losses incurred at skirmishes in Reading and Cardiff. High ranking OOTP member, believed to be in charge of the OOTP defense of Wales. Extremely gifted with magic and tactics, flying may be her only weakness. Lord Voldemort has labeled her a priority enemy of the state, and as such all Death Eaters are instructed to make her capture or death the highest priority. Due to her personality and blood lineage, she will almost certainly not allow herself to be captured alive, thus it is advised that killing spells be used upon immediate contact. _

She dropped the book back on the floor. That last sentence ripped through her. _She will almost certainly not allow herself to be captured alive. _It had been true. She would have never allowed it, would have rather died. She had had pride, been in command of hundreds of people, was respected and admired by her side and feared by the other. She had been _fearsome_. Her friends had all been killed, all died noble deaths fighting for what they had believed in. She had been captured, and now look at her. Dressed up in a maid's uniform, slave to a high ranking Death Eater, cleaning the study of a deceased even higher ranking Death Eater. And grinning with happiness because her master had allowed her to use a levitation spell. She was pathetic.

But then she remembered the pain. The torture, the beating, the rapes, the starvation---she would do anything not to go through those again. As much as she hated herself for it, as much as she cursed herself for compromising her principles, Hermione wanted to live. She wanted to wake up every morning with the faint sense of hope that one day she would be free again, that Voldemort would be gone. She didn't want to die. She didn't want to go back to prison. And so she picked up the book, placed it on the bookshelf, and resumed cleaning.

* * *

When Pansy came home, dinner was waiting. Hermione had spent the past hour preparing it, using all the recipes and skills she had acquired in the idle moments during the war. Pansy was impressed.

"Why slave, this food looks positively delicious!" She patted and rubbed Hermione's head, in the same manner one would pet a dog. Hermione tensed at this treatment. She half-resented, half-appreciated being treated like a pet. It made her feel safe, but also brought back the unpleasant reality of her status.

They sat down to eat, and much like at breakfast, they mostly ate in silence. Pansy was again reviewing various documents while eating, occasionally humming to herself. Hermione, with nothing to say or do, watched her eat. As before, there was something slightly odd about Pansy, and she couldn't quite figure out what, until Pansy grabbed a piece of steak. It was then that Hermione noticed it, what had been bothering her. Pansy only used her right hand. She cut the meat with her right hand, and then grabbed a fork with her right hand to eat it. She shuffled through her papers with her right hand, wrote notes with her right hand, scratched her nose with her right hand. Her left hand lay still on the table.

Her left hand was covered by her sleeve, but the tips of her fingers looked fine. Hermione leaned in slightly and cocked her head for a closer look. She couldn't tell what was wrong with it, what would explain its lack of use. And then she realized that the humming had stopped. She looked up to find Pansy staring at her, with an angry expression on her face.

"What's so interesting, _slave_?" Her tone was frightening.

Hermione could only stutter. "Um….uh…nothing, mistress."

"I see you've noticed my arm."

"No, mistress, it was nothing, I was just---"

"Shut up! I know you were staring at it." Pansy stood up from her chair, furious, as if to strike, and Hermione sunk into hers.

But then Pansy seemed to calm herself down. Taking a series of long breaths, she sat down again.

"Would you like to know what happened to my arm?" She spoke with calm.

Hermione stared at her, scared that this was a trick question and that whatever answer she gave would be wrong.

"I'll show you." Pansy pulled her sleeve back. "This," she said, revealing an arm that was covered with burns, scars and pulsing veins, "is what happened to my arm." It resembled a charred branch more than an arm.

Hermione flinched and pulled back. She was speechless, breathless. "Who…how did that happen? Who did that to you?"

Pansy smiled sadly to herself.

"You did."

Hermione stood still, trying to comprehend her meaning. Anger began to rise inside of her. Was Pansy accusing her of that? How dare she---how da---

"You and your friends at the Order of the Phoenix did this to me."

Hermione snapped. Now it was her turn to stand up in anger.

"How dare you accuse us of something like that!" she said, pointing at Pansy's arm. We at the Order of the Phoenix never once resorted to torture! Which is more than can be said about the brutes on YOUR side!" she spat.

Pansy's face began to lose its composure. "Sit down, slave," she said, obviously trying to remain calm and restore calm in Hermione.

But Hermione wasn't going to sit down. They had taken away her freedom, tortured her endlessly, killed all her friends. She had once been_ fearsome. _But now the only thing she had were her memories, the pride she felt when she remembered what she had fought for in the war. Pansy wasn't going to take that away from her too.

"Fuck you," she growled. "Fuck you. You're not going to blame us for something we never did. You miserable bitch, you brought me here for this, didn't you? You brought me here so you could torment me like this. Well fuck you. You're not going to blame us for that worthless arm of yours." She had snapped.

Upon hearing these words, Pansy's eyes flashed with murderous rage, and the next thing Hermione knew, she was blinded by a huge flash of light and was thrown into the wall on the other side of the room.

Stunned, and in pain from the impact, she groaned and attempted to roll over on her side. A sudden blow on her face knocked her back. Pansy was standing over her holding a wand, shaking in rage, having just kicked her in the face.

"YOU FUCKING BITCH! YOU FUCKING MUDBLOOD PIECE OF SHIT!" she screamed at the top of her lungs. "YOU THINK YOUR SIDE WAS SO PERFECT, DON'T YOU?" She reached down and pulled Hermione up by her neck. Clenching her right hand around her neck, she began to squeeze.

"You fucking bitch, after you were captured your precious friends went crazy trying to find you. You think they didn't torture? YOU THINK THEY DIDN'T TORTURE!" she spat in Hermione's face and tightened her grip around her neck.

"I was in charge of a prison, and they raided it, and captured me. They thought I knew where you were." By now, tears had begun to form in Pansy's eyes and every muscle in her body was shaking. "They beat me half to death trying to get me to tell them where you were, they didn't believe that I didn't know. After they had beaten me, they started burning my arm, starting with my dark mark. Your precious, perfect boyfriend Ron told me if I didn't tell them, they'd start destroying my limbs one by one."

She pulled back for a moment, and pushed Hermione down to the ground in front of her left arm. "LOOK AT MY ARM! LOOK AT IT! THEY DESTROYED IT! IT CAN'T GROW BACK!" By now she was crying hysterically. "YOUR SIDE DIDN'T TORTURE? LOOK AT IT! THEY DID IT BECAUSE OF YOU! HOW DO YOU THINK PEOPLE LOOKED AT ME AFTERWARDS? HOW DO YOU THINK THE MALFOYS TREATED ME? DRACO DIDN'T EVEN WANT TO TOUCH ME!"

She lurched backwards and in a hysterical rage began kicking Hermione. Her blows found their target, and Hermione was quickly battered and bloody. Pansy, still sobbing uncontrollably, eventually relented, and stumbled away, her cries echoing down the hallway. Reaching her bedroom, she collapsed on her bed, eventually falling asleep after drenching the sheets with her tears.

Back in the kitchen, Hermione passed out in a pool of her own blood.


	5. The Morning After

Disclaimer: Man I'm running out of interesting ways to say it. JK Rowling's.

Summary: The morning after that rather nasty fight. Warning: violent flashbacks, curse words.

A/N: I update again, this time at my aunt's house! It is like 1am here in Ecuador, my cousin just walked by, asking me what I was doing on the computer. "Oh, I'm just checking my email." Ah, quite the sly devil I am. Anyway, thank you for all the reviews, I truly and dearly appreciate them all. I hope you all enjoy this chapter, and I really hope it isn't too sappy, or that the first part isn't too disturbing. Since someone asked, I'll just say that my visions for this post-war Voldemort world were inspired by Schindler's List, with mudbloods being the obvious parallels to the jews in WWII. There you have it. Read and review!

* * *

"P—pleas---please, Master Goyle, I have a wife and two daughters," the man groveled pathetically. He knew his fate. 

"Did you hear that, Goyle? Two daughters! We'll have to add them to your stable," Draco Malfoy cackled. He leaned in until he was inches from the begging man's face. "Do you like that, mudblood? After we kill you, we're going to turn your daughters into whores!" He cackled again, as the man put his face in his hands and sobbed.

Pansy felt her face grow red with rage. She hated when Draco dragged her with him to visit Goyle. She couldn't stand Goyle to begin with, and when her husband was with him she couldn't stand him either. All they ever did was torture Goyle's slaves.

"Please, Master Goyle, Master Malfoy….please, mercy."

The two laughed in response. Pansy quickly turned and walked away, knowing what was coming. From behind her she could hear Goyle.

"No mercy for mudbloods." It had become almost an oath among Draco and his friends.

Pansy shut her eyes as she heard the Avada Kedavra curse, and the choking scream that followed it. God, it was all so pointless.

"Pansy? Where are you going? Oh don't tell me…" came the exasperated groan from Draco Malfoy. "Don't tell me you're going to cry about these mudbloods again." He ran up beside her, and Pansy whirled around to face him.

"What you and Goyle are doing is just sick! There's no reason to be so sadistic and cruel, there's no reason for any of this! They're still human, even if they are mudbloods!"

Draco's eyes narrowed. "Haven't you heard Lord Voldemort's latest speech? There is no such thing as sadistic or cruel when dealing with mudbloods."

"Oh honestly, do you really believ---" Pansy stopped when she saw Draco's expression.

"Be careful with what you're saying, girl," he snarled. "It seems to me that the mudbloods destroyed your brain along with your arm, and you _aren't_ going to make a fool out of father and I." He grabbed Pansy's left arm and squeezed. "Am I clear?"

Pansy cried out in pain. Draco waited until she nodded in affirmation before he released his grip. Tears formed in her eyes as she followed her husband back towards where Goyle was standing above his latest mudblood victim.

As they approached, a scream shot out from the Goyle manor in front of them. A naked girl, blood running down her face and legs, burst out from one of the doors and began frantically running away from the house, in a path that brought her towards Goyle and Draco. Pansy recognized the girl.

Two men, who Pansy recognized as Goyle's cousins, burst out of the house in pursuit, hastily buttoning their pants. Pansy could guess as to what had happened.

As the frantic girl approached, obviously consumed with panic and not aware of who she was running towards, Goyle grabbed the wand from his pocket, laughing, his eyes flashing with sadistic glee.

"Cruciato."

The girl was lifted into the air and her blood-curdling scream pierced the air. She collapsed on the ground, screaming and writhing, as Goyle's cousins approached.

"Fucking bitch, doesn't know to appreciate pureblood cock when she's offered it," one of them said.

"Draco," Pansy whispered. "I know that girl."

Draco turned around. "And?"

Goyle's cousins began dragging the screaming girl by her hair back towards the house.

"Draco, that's Hannah Abbot. She was at Hogwarts with us."

"Yeah?"

Pansy spoke as forcefully as she could, trying to conceal her desperation. "Draco, I _know _her."

Draco had stopped walking, and stared Pansy right in her eyes. "And _I_ know she's a mudblood, and that's all that matters."

* * *

Pansy opened her eyes for just a second, just long enough to see the sunlight streaming into her room, and then quickly shut them. She threw the blanket over her face, curled up into the fetal position, and tried desperately to fall back to sleep. She didn't want to be awake because it meant facing her guilt. 

But guilt is a very poor sedative, and the shame and disgust she felt prevented any sort of return to sleep. Knowing that sleep was out of the question, a frustrated Pansy kicked the blankets off her bed and pounded her fist once against the pillow.

It wasn't supposed to be like this! She had tried, she had tried so very hard to be different! She had promised herself that she was going to be kind and fair. She had promised herself that she would be nothing like Goyle or Draco, that by acquiring Hermione as a slave she was actually saving her from something worse. But that had lasted all of one day. It turned out she was no different from everyone else.

When she thought about how much preparation she had gone through, all the bribes she had given, all the favors she had called up just to get ownership of Hermione, it was enough to make her cry again. She had tried so hard, but it had all been for nothing. Last night had ruined it all.

She rolled onto her back and thought back to that summer night at Goyle manor, the time she saw Hannah Abbott, the night she swore to herself that she would save a mudblood from a similar fate. She remembered the look on Goyle's face right before he cast Cruciato. Did she look like that yesterday while beating Hermione? Did Hermione cry out like Hannah Abbot had?

It was such a miserable train of thought that Pansy started crying and cursing herself all over again. This all wouldn't have happened if she could just control her temper, if she wasn't so sensitive about her arm! But why did Hermione have to yell at her like that? Why did she have to call her arm worthless?

But it had been her own fault. She couldn't blame Hermione.

Pansy lay there, thinking of what she could do now, wondering how Hermione would react to her after last night, when she suddenly had a chilling thought. What if Hermione had run away? She sat up in bed. It was a scenario too horrible to imagine. Runaway slaves who were caught faced a mandatory kiss with a Dementor. Not even the Malfoy name would be able to save her.

Terrified by the possibility and in a sudden panic, she sprung out of bed and sprinted down the hall, not even taking the time to cover her arm. Reaching the end of the hallway and seeing the kitchen at the bottom of the stairs, she lost what little composure she had left.

"Hermione! Hermione!" she desperately called out, racing down the stairs. _If Hermione had run away…_

She burst into the kitchen and stopped dead in her tracks. Her eyes grew wide, a soft gasp of shock came from her mouth. Tears began to well in her eyes.

Hermione was sitting down at the kitchen table. Her face was crusted with dried blood, her right eye was blackened.

But on the kitchen table...was breakfast. She had made breakfast. Pansy had attacked her, beaten her till she passed out, and she had still made breakfast!

She stood up and curtsied when Pansy came in.

"Good morning, mistress."

Pansy lost what little control she had left.

* * *

Hermione had woken up that morning on a floor that was hard and cold and with a dull ache in her bones and joints. Her vision was blurry, and she couldn't make out where she was. She panicked. Pansy had had her thrown back in prison! She stumbled up blindly, grasping and feeling her way around. Her hand brushed against a cold metal pipe, and she brought her head close so that her eyes could make out what it was. It was the sink faucet, she was still in Pansy's kitchen. She briefly relaxed and sunk to the floor. 

She wasn't in prison, but prison or worse seemed inevitable. She had challenged and goaded Pansy into a fight. She had insulted her, called her a liar, god how foolish she had been! She had been given an opportunity to get away from prison, and as humiliating as it was to work for her former enemy, Pansy had been kind, and she had ruined it! She slapped her hand against the floor in anger and teared up. She desperately wanted to stay here, but there was no way Pansy would keep her now.

She sat up, wiped the tears from her eyes and considered her options. She had to think, think very hard if she wanted to live. It was still early and the sun was not yet up. She could try and make an escape. But…where could she go? She couldn't think of a single place to go, a single person to try and contact. In fact, there was only one person in the entire world who she still knew, and that was Pansy. And if she was caught, she imagined that the beating Pansy gave her last night would be kind in comparison.

No, she couldn't run away, so she considered her other options. She could sit and wait out her fate or….or she could try to apologize to Pansy, try to get back on her good side. Pansy had only given her two duties so far: to clean Lucius's room, and to prepare breakfast and dinner. It was nearly breakfast time. Knowing that this might be her only chance to avoid death, Hermione stood on wobbly legs and began to desperately prepare breakfast.

When she was finished, she sat down and waited for Pansy to come down. She practiced what she would say, how she would apologize and beg for her life. Until Hermione had provoked her, Pansy had been nice to her. Maybe she would be nice again.

After a few minutes, Hermione heard a noise from upstairs, the sound of feet pattering on the wood floor, and then Pansy's voice.

"Hermione! Hermione!" she was shouting breathlessly.

She tensed up, but was more confused than nervous. It didn't sound angry, it sounded desperate. And then Pansy appeared, standing at the doorway of the kitchen. Her eyes were red, her left arm uncovered, and her breathing irregular. When she saw Hermione she choked up.

Hermione, though confused, stood up and began to speak. "Good morning, mistress."

Pansy stared at her in shock, her mouth agape, her bottom lip trembling, trying to maintain her composure.

Hermione couldn't understand why Pansy was so emotional, and before she could continue with her plea Pansy broke down. Tears ran down her face, and she leaned over and covered her face with her hand. She was trying to say something, but was struggling to speak.

Hermione stood there, bewildered, trying to understand what was happening and why Pansy was crying. Not sure what to do next, she followed her instinct and crossed the room towards Pansy. When she got close, Pansy suddenly threw her arm around Hermione and pressed her head into the crook of Hermione's neck. Hermione could feel the warm tears flow down her neck.

"Why did you make breakfast?" Pansy gasped softly, between breaths.

Hermione didn't understand the question. "Because…it's my job."

Her response only caused Pansy to pull her closer, squeeze her tighter.

"I was so scared that you might have run away," Pansy whispered.

"No," Hermione gulped. "There was no place for me to go, except here."

This elicited another gentle sob from Pansy, and she pulled away from her neck and pressed her forehead against Hermione's, staring at her eye to eye.

"I'm so so sorry for yesterday. I…I'm just really sensitive about…about, you know…and I've been trying to control my temper and I just snapped and I'm just so sorry for it."

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but Pansy continued.

"I promise you, Hermione, I _promise_ you, I will never hurt you again, okay? I don't want to be like everyone else, okay? I know how mudblo---your kind of people, are treated. I don't want to be like everyone else. I don't want to be like Goyle and Draco, I want to be nice, I promised myself I'd be nice and then I just lost my temper and I'm just…so, so sorry."

Hermione realized that she wouldn't have to beg for her life, that Pansy wanted her to stay and was actually apologizing for her behavior. She was stunned. This was worlds away from what she expected, worlds away from how Pansy had behaved up to this point. Seeing Pansy cry and beg for forgiveness brought tears to Hermione's eyes. She put her hand at the back of Pansy's head and gently pushed it back so that it rested on her neck.

"I'm so sorry too. For saying those things about you, and not believing what you said." She was crying as well.

Pansy kept quietly repeating something, over and over again, against Hermione's neck. She strained her ear to hear it.

"I'm not like Goyle and Draco, I'm not like Goyle and Draco, I'm not like Goyle and Draco," she whimpered.

Hermione wasn't quite sure what she was referring to, but she wrapped her arms around her and held her tight.

"No, you're not."


	6. Another Step on the Road

Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns these characters.

Summary: The relationship continues developing, plus a cliffhanger ending!

A/N: Hey y'all. I'm back in America, which means that I'm back in a country with friends, activities, responsibilities, school, sports...etc. So I am going to be a lot busier, and might not be able to update as frequently. But I will try, lord how I will try! I've become so addicted to fan fiction, you guys have no idea...I stayed home from the beach today to type this up! Anyhow, I really hope everyone enjoys this chapter, and I'm so happy people seem to like the fact that I'm going slow, and developing the relationship carefully. I was worried that I was boring everyone to death. Anyway, read, enjoy, and if you do---please review!

* * *

Pansy shifted in her shoes and gritted her teeth. 

"Honestly Ms. Malfoy, there are members in the commission who are…questioning your loyalty towards the Dark Lord. It would be prudent of you to speak more positively in our meetings, and for god's sake stop your endless complaints about mudblood policy. It's no longer an issue for debate!" Albert Sinclair, the corpulent patriarch of Ireland's finest pureblood family---and the head of the Pureblood Commission, eyed her seriously.

"And it wouldn't hurt, Ms. Malfoy, if you wore your Voldemort badge every now and then. It would certainly help quiet the accusations and suspicions that people are starting to form about you."

Pansy took a deep breath. She had to play nice with these people.

"I'm sorry Albert, I just don't know what's gotten into me lately." Using her favorite excuse, she continued, "It's just been so hard since my husband was killed, and I've been left alone in that house." She cast her eyes downward, to accentuate her supposed sadness.

The excuse worked, like always.

"Oh of course my dear," Sinclair put a kind hand on her shoulder, "What happened to your husband….and even yourself, was tragic. We on the Commission have nothing but the utmost sympathy. But please, Pansy, you cannot continue to question our mudblood policy! You know Lord Voldemort is directly behind it!"

"Of course Albert, I again apologize. I guess I just need some more rest. See you at the next meeting?"

Albert Sinclair gave Pansy a hug, and went on his way. Pansy continued her walk down the hallway of the Ministry of Magic, heading for the exit and a respite from the endless and meaningless prattle that characterized every Pureblood Commission meeting.

Someone was waiting for her at the end of the hallway.

"Did Albert just chastise you again?" asked a grinning Gaius Calega, leaning against the wall. He spoke with the easy confidence that characterized all the Calegas---Italy's most regarded Pureblood family and personal favorites of Voldemort.

"Yeah," Pansy sighed. Gaius and Draco had been great friends, and in fact Gaius had been best man at their wedding. Though arrogant, Pansy liked him more than nearly every other Death Eater. Gaius was wickedly intelligent and largely easy-going, and Pansy had even once lamented to herself that she should have married Gaius instead.

"I tell you, everytime you bring up mudblood policy in the meetings, the arseholes of every single member clench up. You should see their faces, I doubt a single topic could annoy them more."

Pansy laughed bitterly. "Good, I hope I ruin their day. All they want to talk about is Voldemort badges and Voldemort parades and Voldemort statues anyway."

Gaius sighed along with her, but then grinned again, speaking in a low, bemused voice. "Hey Pans, I've heard rumors that you somehow got... _Hermione Granger_ as your slave." He looked questioningly at Pansy.

Pansy's stomach clenched. She had bribed a lot of people so that her new slave's identity would remain a secret. But the Calega name was more powerful than even the name Malfoy.

"Yeah," she admitted. Gaius became animated and excited.

"Holy god, how'd you do that? I had no idea she was even still alive, and I would have figured that she would have never been released if she had been alive. And you got her as your slave! How many favors did you have to call in for that? Oh and please tell me you're abusing her horrifically! I can't even imagine what I'd do to her if she was _my _slave."

Pansy suddenly very badly wanted to end this conversation. "I had to bribe a lot of people, including the Minister of Security," she stated plainly, as if uninterested. "And yeah, I almost killed her during the second day of her captivity."

A delighted Gaius clapped his hands. "Wonderful! I still remember during the war, when we all tread in fear of her, and now she's your slave! Seriously, you must show me sometime."

Pansy nodded. "Of course, Gaius." Continuing her movement down the hallway, she politely bid farewell. "Now, if you excuse me…."

Gaius bowed courteously and moved aside, saying goodbye. Pansy stalked down the hallway towards the exit, suddenly worried about Hermione. Gaius knowing about her was tolerable, he was a friend. But if others, especially others on the Pureblood Commission knew, it could become a serious problem. She reached the exit, and walked out towards her limousine, her mouth full of a bitter taste.

* * *

Hermione was waiting for by the door when she came home, of course. Hermione was always waiting for her. 

"Good evening mistress." She bowed politely. "Dinner is ready."

"Good evening Hermione," Pansy replied. The two women had worked themselves into such a routine that their evening conversations were nearly scripted. Pansy could recite Hermione's lines in her head, and she had come to regard their polite banter as more of an annoyance than anything.

"How was your day, mistress?"

"Oh, you know," Pansy sighed, "It was fine, like always. How was yours?" She knew exactly the answer she'd receive, and it infuriated her that her life at home had become perhaps even more mundane than her life outside.

Hermione smiled politely, like she did every single evening, and replied. "It was fine as well, mistress." She turned towards the kitchen. "Shall I serve dinner?" She took steps in the direction of the kitchen, and Pansy went to follow her when something suddenly snapped in her.

"Actually, you know what?"

Hermione stopped in her tracks, surprised by this break in routine.

Pansy continued. "You know what, actually my day was shit. These Pureblood Commission meetings….I don't know if you're aware of them, but they are such a waste of time, we literally talk about the most inconsequential topics imaginable." She felt her burden lifted somewhat.

Hermione was looking at her, trying to gauge her face and respond with the appropriate reaction. She decided to play it safe. "Oh? I'm sorry to hear that mistress."

But Pansy wasn't done. "I mean, I'm sure you don't know this Hermione, but we are mismanaging this country so badly." She her hands up to her face and sighed. "You should see how badly the schools are being run. They tried to re-open Hogwarts last year, but it was so badly managed that they only enrolled fifteen students. Fifteen! Oh, and the hospitals, and the libraries, and even the roads, they are all just decrepit. And what do we talk about in our meetings? More parades and statues for Voldemort!" She laughed to herself.

Hermione could barely control her excitement. She had been cut off from the world for so long and had been desperate for any sort of information, so she decided to encourage Pansy's venting. "I'm sure it's not that bad, mistress."

Pansy looked up at her. "Not that bad! Not that bad! If anything, I might be painting a rosy picture! You should see the stuff we're doing in Europe. I went to visit the war zone last year, and….my god I can't even describe it. It was bad here in Britain during the war, but it doesn't even compare. The stuff we're doing in Europe is just….." she trailed off, unable to continue and looking sad.

Hermione stepped towards her and put her hand on Pansy's shoulder. "It's not your fault."

Pansy stared up at the painting of Lucius, and then laughed bitterly. "You know, sometimes I think it would have been better if your side had won. If I had known…about….all _this_, I might have switched sides."

This was a serious revelation, Hermione thought. That statement was something that could probably get Pansy thrown in prison. Hermione decided to be equally forthcoming.

"Our side probably would have done the same." Pansy looked up puzzled, and Hermione continued. "You know, nearly every pureblood family joined your side, right? By the time I was captured, there were a lot of people on my side who were advocating war against all purebloods, arguing that the war was entirely all purebloods versus all muggle wizards. Even _Ron_….I mean he's as pureblood as it comes, and even he was saying that. We probably would have done the same, if we had won."

Pansy looked at Hermione, trying to see if she was joking or lying. She decided that Hermione was being sincere, and chuckled to herself. "I guess we're all pretty much the same, huh?"

Hermione smiled back. "Yeah."

Pansy was in a good mood. It had felt so good to vent, it had felt so good to have someone to talk with again. Why hadn't she done this sooner?

"Shall I serve dinner, mistress?"

"Yeah," Pansy nodded, and then suddenly was hit with an idea. Since she had already broken routine, why not break it further? "Actually, it was such a lovely day today, why don't we eat outside on the patio?"

Hermione turned back to look at her, and broke into another smile.

"Okay."

* * *

The patio table was a glass affair, more ornamental than anything, and Hermione briefly wondered if it would support the weight of all the dishes. But, perhaps magically imbued, the table held steadfast. 

"Ooooh, doesn't this look nice?" Pansy stepped out from the kitchen, holding a bottle of wine and two glasses.

"Thanks," Hermione replied, proud of her work. Eating outside was so much more casual than eating inside, and their conversation reflected the difference.

"You know," Pansy began playfully, "I've never seen you drink. I thought I was being _sooo_ nice when I offered you wine that first day, and you turned me down! In fact, I don't think I ever even saw you drink butterbeer when we were back at Hogwarts."

"Ah yes," Hermione replied, equally playful. "Well you know, that first day, I was still pretty suspicious. I half expected the wine to be laced with arsenic or something. And as for Hogwarts? I was just a nerd, what can I say?"

Pansy laughed. When she had finished, she placed the glasses on the table and began pouring wine into both of them, awkwardly again because of her arm. "Well, now you don't have much of a choice, do you?" She began speaking in an overly dramatic, official tone. "For you see, I am your legal owner. And as decreed in Addendum 13c of the Muggle Servitude Act, when an owner wants to get her servant drunk, the servant will obey, or the punishment is transfiguration into a walrus!"

Hermione burst out laughing, Pansy joining her. When they were done, Hermione reached over and took a sip of her wine, and scrunched her nose into a bitter face.

"What, you don't like it?"

Hermione shook her head. Pansy reached into her pocket and drew her wand, making elaborate movements with it in the air.

"Well, I hope you enjoy life as a walrus."

Hermione giggled again, and Pansy put down the wand, sitting down on the bench beside her. Hermione served food onto their plates, and they began leisurely eating, while looking at the sunset over the trees.

"Oh, you'll never guess who I saw at the Ministry of Magic last week," Pansy said suddenly, breaking the sound of quiet chewing.

Hermione looked at her with interest. "Who?"

"Gilderoy Lockhart, remember him? That con-artist of a Dark Arts professor?"

Hermione gasped. "He's still alive? Gosh, and I used to be madly in love with him, too."

"Oh really? Draco was convinced that he was madly in love with your boy Potter. We could see the bulge in his pants everytime Harry asked a question."

This prompted another fit of giggling from Hermione, and when she was done, Pansy spoke again.

"Well, you'll be glad to hear this. Guess what he's doing now?"

Hermione raised her eyebrows, prompting Pansy to continue.

"He's a secretary! That big blowhard is now just a secretary, an _assistant_ secretary no less, in the Department of Complaints!"

Hermione clapped her hands together in delight. "Ha! Serves him right, you know he tried to erase Harry's memory?" She paused, and then tentatively asked, "So…how about anyone else from…you know, back in the day, at Hogwarts?"

It seemed like she was talking about things decades in the past, when it had in fact been just a couple of years.

Pansy thought for a second. "Well, remember Marcus Flint? He used to be some important minister, until he got drunk and insulted Lucius. Lucius had him busted down to security guard at Gringotts."

Hermione chuckled yet again. "I swear he tried to eat Crookshanks once."

"And hmmm, let's see, Lisa Turpin, the Ravenclaw, she's now the Herbology professor at Hogwarts, or at least she was, until they shut it down again."

"Oh I remember her, she and Neville were so excited about Herbology."

"OH! And the Patils! Oh, it was quite the scandal! Well, even though they fought on your side, they were purebloods, right? Lord Voldmort announced a general amnesty to all purebloods who surrendered, and they did. They were given pretty cushy jobs too, until one day earlier this year they both suddenly disappeared! It turns out they defected to America! Oh you should have seen the outrage!"

This news in particular made Hermione happy. "Really? Good! The Patils were like sisters to me. I'm glad they got out."

Pansy sat back in her chair. "Yeah, to be honest, I always liked them too. And all the Slytherin boys were secretly in love with both of them. You know, the twin fantasy and everything."

Hermione grinned and replied, "Same for us. Dean Thomas in particular. He even wrote a poem to one of them, Padma I think, but he gave it to Parvati on accident, or something…it was great. I'm really glad they survived."

Pansy paused, thinking of the best way to phrase what she was about to say.

"I'm glad you survived, too."

Hermione was confused with emotion and didn't know how to respond, so she did the best she could.

"Thank you for saving me."

Pansy reached out to take a sip of wine, before speaking again.

"We should have done this a lot sooner."

Hermione nodded.

"Yes, we should have."

There was an uncomfortable silence for a few moments, where they just looked at each other. Finally, Hermione leaned forward to pick at her food.

Hermione turned her head to see what Pansy was doing. Pansy had moved closer, and was staring at Hermione with a queer look on her face. Before she could ask what was wrong, Pansy had brought her hand up and cupped her face, and leaned in for a soft kiss.

Her lips were gentle and tasted of wine. But this time Hermione didn't mind the taste.


End file.
